Cooking in an Italian restaurant
by NagisaKoKo
Summary: Feliciano Vargas had hired Alfred F.Jones to work in soon to be his Italian restaurant as a part time waiter. It is there where Alfred meets Ivan, a Russian who had previously known Feliciano's Grandpa, Roma
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia_

* * *

There was a small Italian restaurant lying in the busy street of a large American city. It was a family business shop, who happened to own a chain of restaurants back in Italy. This was the smallest of shops, the only one away from their native country. Their business was reasonable but often overshadowed for fast food restaurants like the famed McDonald's.

The one who would eventually take over this business was young Feliciano, a lively spirited young Italian. He came here with Grandpa Roma to open the new restaurant. Grandpa Roma had wanted a change of environment and America was just the place. He had returned to Italy to check on some of the restaurants, leaving Feliciano to tend to the place temporarily.

Being the happy-go-lucky boy as he is, it was not weird to think that he had made a friend upon arriving in this new country. It started when he attended the cooking class he had taken up as a way to kill time. Apparently, they had their own stations to work in and the boy next to him was having trouble.

While he had finished the dish he was assigned to early on, the poor boy was having problems just cooking the ingredients.

"Are you having trouble?" Feliciano asked curiously, a bit hesitantly as he wasn't confident in his English. The boy was beginning to look flustered his cowlick bouncing up and down as he ran around making sure his food wasn't burning. He flushed with embarrassment as he clumsily pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose while sheepishly laughing," Guess so, cooking was never a really strong point of mine. You seem to be doing very well there."

"Oh? This is a very simple dish, ve! I could probably do it with my eyes closed!" Feliciano beamed. Oblivious to the Italian, the other boy's face was beginning to colour at the seemingly harmless comment.

"You are doing great, Feliciano. What about you Al-Mon dieu! Is that charcoal?" their teacher, Francis remarked upon coming to their station. His eyes sparkled brightly at Feliciano's cooking and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the other boy's inedible hot dogs.

"Sorry Mr Bonnefoy…" he muttered." Alfred, have you been listening to me last lesson? This is only the first dish we are making! How hard can it be to make hot dogs, I ask?" he chided while whipping his blond curls," do you think I will dare entrust you with the heavenly cuisine of French food if you can mess up something this simple?"

"It's okay! I'll guide him!" a voice piped up. Francis turned to Feliciano apologetically," Oh no, I'm the teacher here and it is my duty to teach these amateurs, not you." The Italian shook his head," No problem! I'm happy to be of help. Besides, I'm all done here." Francis smiled warmly at him before walking away.

"Hey thanks for that…Feli…can I call you that?" Alfred looked at him uneasily. "Of course! And in turn I get to call you Alfie!" Feliciano hugged him.

"Haha…Okay!" he said, cheeks dusted a light pink at the intimacy. "I'll help you! Hot dogs are really easy to make, you'll learn in no time."

"Of course, I'm the hero!" Alfred puffed out his chest, raising his hand to his forehead as if saluting. And that was how they knew each other. Imagine their surprise when they realized they were in the same school and same _English _class. And just like that, their friendship blossomed and before long, Feliciano hired Alfred as a part-time waiter in his restaurant.

* * *

"Hey coming!" Alfred shouted while rushing to a table. The Italian place was a two storey building with a very classy theme to it. While it was not an elegant, grand restaurant, it had its own charms. This place was more popular with older people than teens because of its food choice. Not that it was bad, just that it didn't have the appeal of a hamburger.

It was painted white on the outside with four brown four paneled windows with ledges to display pots of flowers. The entrance was an oak door with a small rectangular window on top that swing inwards. There was a small golden bell, slightly rusted, that rings every time a customer enters that was above the door.

There was a plate above the door, with letters 'Vargas Italian' engraved on it with fake roses attached to each end of the plate.

The interior was a lot more homey than the exterior. The wallpapers were beige in colour with simple patterns painted on the top, giving it a vintage feel. The room was a very simple rectangular shape, six four-seated tables at each side of the room.

There were also paintings of beautiful scenery hung on the walls. Three chandeliers hang from the ceiling, giving the room a soft rosy glow. The kitchen was just at the back, the only entryway was through a door with a circular window at the top.

Upstairs was slightly different. There were only two four-seated tables and four two-seated tables to the back. These tables had rose scented candles, and the room was a bit darker.

When Alfred first came, he felt a bit out of place. He only went to fast food restaurants in his life for he refused to eat anything else other than that. But he couldn't deny he was attracted to this place upon reaching it. He was a little stiff on his first day of work, unsure of what to do but Feliciano guided him.

"I know you will like this job very soon. Trust me."

Those were Feliciano's words when Alfred was just leaving that evening.

Turns out he was right. Alfred stuck with the job and the restaurant became pretty dear to him. It was a place for him to relax, as Feliciano had said. It was also very calming for him to sometime converse with the customers, who were luckily, nice old or middle aged people. Because of his very talkative personality, friendships were quickly formed with these loyal customers.

They were wiser and patient and occasionally listen to Alfred's rants about school. Sometimes they offer suggestions for his problems, sometimes they just lend a listening ear. Alfred was grateful enough they would not judge him and had trusted them not to give bias opinion.

He also grew to be very close to Feliciano and the other Japanese working there. He treated them like family and the feeling was mutual so they had a very trusted friendship. He knew neither of them would judge him. Feliciano was too kind and Kiku was always very calm and knew better than to assume rashly. Alfred was thankful they weren't good at being controversial anyway.

Feliciano knew of his family background when he visited his family but never ever looked down on him for it. Alfred had trusted him with and was glad he did. It was nice to know you had a friend you could really trust albeit them being a goofy and annoying. Then again, they were both rather similar in that sense.

Today, Alfred noticed a slight difference in Feliciano's routine when they arrived at the restaurant after school. Normally Feliciano would head straight to the kitchen and start whipping up some dishes with the other chefs. Alfred and Kiku were quite efficient so there was no need for another waiter unless it was approaching peak time. That was when Feliciano himself would help out.

Feliciano went into a flower shop to buy a small fake sunflower and placed it in a small vase on one of the tables on the second floor.

"I thought you don't put sunflowers on the second floor?" Alfred asked.

"Oh," Feliciano smiled while carefully smoothing out the tablecloth, making sure there was no wrinkles," we have a special guest today. I'm not familiar with this customer but he and Grandpa Roma were close for some reasons. They met in Italy and he was a loyal customer. Actually, his father was, he just tagged along. He grew attached to the place. Recently he moved to America as well and wanted to visit this new restaurant."

"And he likes sunflowers?" Alfred guessed. "Loved them. Grandpa Roma always says he gets happy whenever he sees sunflowers. And he said that was the way to recognize him and his scarf...he wears them all the time I think," Feliciano frowned," said it had sentimental value to him so he never takes it off."

"Dude you serious? Loves sunflowers and wears a scarf everywhere? He sounds like a freak," Alfred snorted. Feliciano shook his head," We really shouldn't judge the book by its cover. I mean, you don't know their story and all."

The bell rang at the moment. _Wonder if it's him? The freak with the scarf_. Before Alfred could rush down and open the door, a tall man had already made his way to the steps. The first thing Alfred noticed was how big he was. He seemed even taller than that German guy that was always hanging out with Feliciano. _Yea that…uh Ludwig, damn this guy is huge. _

He had ash blonde hair with a large prominent nose. What Alfred noticed first was his violet irises._ Wow they're really purple, just like Mattie's but darker._ He trembled a bit because of his intimidating figure. _Don't be a scaredy cat! You're the hero!_

"I guess that's him…" Alfred swallowed thickly as he walked over," good afternoon sir, are you the special guest?"

The other man stared in surprise before answering with a heavily accented voice," I do not know…but I guess I am."

_Oh,_ Alfred blinked,_ guess Feliciano didn't tell him._

"Are you Ivan Braginski?" Feliciano asked as he approached nearer. " Da, I suppose the table with the sunflower is for me?" a trace of smile formed on his lips. Feliciano nodded briefly before turning to Alfred.

"Alfie…Hey Alfie!" Alfred snapped out of his state of trance," Yes?"

"Look can you serve instead? Grandpa Roma told me to do it personally but…Eek! Is he looking our way? Look I'll pay you extra so please help me!" Feliciano cowered as he hid behind Alfred. Ivan caught his gaze and using his hands, made a motion of opening a book.

"O-Oh! The menu Alfred! Don't tell Grandpa Roma please! I'll go down now!" Feliciano scurried down the stairs, leaving Alfred alone with the stranger.

He bit his lip and went to grab a menu that was stacked neatly on a chest of drawers located near the stairway before heading back to the table.

"Uh well, Feliciano needed to rush to the kitchen so I'll be the one taking your orders," He said nervously. Ivan looked at him, expecting Alfred to hand him the menu. When Alfred didn't move, Ivan coughed," Um, the menu…Alfred?"

Alfred widened his eyes as he realized he was still clutching on to the menu and blushed," Oops, sorry was distracted."

"By what?" Ivan asked while flipping through the menu. " Nothing really," Alfred muttered, staring at the scarf with puzzlement. "Tell Vargas I want…Risotto. And do you serve vodka here?

"_Vodka?_ I'm not really sure…" Alfred trailed off. _How old is he?_ Ivan laughed lightly," That's okay really. It's just like Russian water to us so I wanted to know if you had any."

"Russian water?" Alfred frowned. "I'm Russian, da?" _Russian…well it just makes him more of a freak._

"Feliciano reminds me a lot about his brother. Both instantly ran away when they saw me. Are they always that busy in the kitchen?" Ivan asked curiously. _No, more likely you scared the shit out of them._ "Well they are rather good cooks…I mean…" Alfred laughed weakly, he _cannot_ mess this up.

"What about you?" Ivan asked out of the blue. The laughter immediately died in Alfred's throat," Uh…I'm great! I learn from the best after all…haha…" _As if. All Mr Bonnefoy knows is to bitch about how horrible my cooking is and dress like a sissy._

"Okay sounds great," Ivan returned the menu to Alfred," tell Feliciano I'm looking forward to tasting his cooking and hopefully I can meet him."

Alfred forced a laugh," Hahaha…We'll see." _If you scare him more than that austere discipline crazy German, that's not going to happen. Good luck though._

* * *

If you're interested, the main parings are going to be RusAme, FrUk and maybe a bit of GerIta.

I hope the characters weren't too OOC. Did you enjoy it?I hope you did!


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia_

_Author's note: Thank you for all that followed, favourited and reviewed this story. It does mean a lot to me that people want to read this story. I am sorry for the late update as I wasn't sure I wanted to continue this story. But from now updates should be more regular._

* * *

Alfred's life had never been particularly interesting. It was the same dull routine every day, sometimes he would wish a sudden miracle would happen and his life could take a turn for the better. He always wished he was one of those heroes in those video games that were very charismatic and brave.

He felt they were different from those online games where you were actually you…in a way. Online games were very popular among his classmates especially fighting or shooting games. Somehow he didn't have that adrenaline rush when he played those. He preferred those specially structured games with a fixed hero that saves the day.

They had their own learning points that were distributed throughout the story. They were an inspiration to him. And he wanted to be like that inspiration to everyone else.

* * *

"Damn I didn't do my homework again…"he grumbled. Alfred was looking at his English workbook as if it had grew a pair of slimy legs and sprouted eyes. Besides him, Feliciano was bouncing, in his hands a written letter.

"Really Alfie? Miss Joon probably won't let you off light this time," Feliciano seemed a little worried at the prospect of his friend not handing up an important piece of work to a teacher that could spit fire.

"Did you do your homework?" Alfred suddenly turned to Feliciano, his eyes intense and intimidating. Feliciano stopped jumping and stood frozen to his place," I-I had valid reason. My parents had given me this excuse letter."

Alfred groaned," Shit my name's gonna be recorded down again. I can kiss that perfect conduct grade goodbye." A shoulder deliberately knocked into Alfred, making him wince in pain.

"Oh sorry, didn't see ya shrimp," a voice sneered at him. Alfred's muscles tensed at that _familiar _tone. Towering over him was a senior boy with disheveled white hair and crimson red eyes. Alfred cursed. _Gilbert._

His collar was unbuttoned and he was giving Alfred that look of pity when looking down at him._ Arrogant asshole._

Alfred kept his eyes on the ground," What do you want?" Gilbert smirked," You always say the same thing._ What do you want?_ You should know the answer by now." Alfred tightened his fist on his book. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Please we have to rush to Miss Joon's class or we'll get reprimanded quite severely," a timid voice spoke up. The albino switched his gaze and blinked, as if he just noticed the Italian. He probably did.

For some weird reasons, he brightened up and started rambling," Oh so you are the transfer junior everyone was talking about? You're quite cute aren't you?" Feliciano bit his lip and tentatively stepped back. Somehow he didn't want to stay around this guy. Alfred's eyes narrowed at the German who was still trying to converse with his friend. He roughly grabbed Feliciano and dragged away even though Gilbert was in mid-sentence.

* * *

"Good afternoon-oh," Kiku stopped his greeting when he caught sight of who he was speaking to. Ivan was standing at the entrance.

"Priyvet, I see your American friend isn't here," Ivan stated, raising his eyebrow as he scanned the room. Kiku's face remained placid," Indeed he is not, he has a course to attend to with Feliciano, do you have anything you need to inform him about? I would certainly be more than glad to pass a message to him for you." Ivan waved him off dismissively and went upstairs.

Kiku held on to his menu as if it were a shield as he followed the Russian up hesitantly. He could not believe he was doing this. He wasn't really fond of the Russian the moment he met him, he just emits this disturbing aura. When Ivan sat down, he picked up a knife and began brushing his fingers against it while a frown formed on his face. Kiku shuddered at this decidedly very odd behaviour.

"Sir do you need anything?" he asked, forcing a smile on his face even though he knew he was failing at it terribly. Ivan studied the menu before his fingers traced to a picture. He opened his mouth but was interrupted by a bell ringing and footsteps storming on the wooden floorboard.

"Yo Kiku, how's work?" a loud voice rang from below. "Decently well, but please do change into your work clothes quickly and don't bring any of your game consoles to the toilet!" Kiku replied, amazed at how well his voice could travel downstairs. It must be because he was standing near the staircase.

Ivan chuckled at the _very interesting_ piece of information the Japanese had accidently blurted out in his presence.

"Oh my god, shut up Kiku!" Alfred responded anxiously. Kiku rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the Russian." Pretend you didn't hear that," Kiku sighed. Ivan smirked," Why?" Kiku's mouth turned upwards slightly," Then again…it's really up to you."

Then, there was a distinct stomping of the stairs and Alfred appeared. "See, it's a freaking record time. I changed within like-" Alfred's mouth hung open when he realized Ivan was back.

"Like dude, what are you doing here?" Alfred asked, aghast. Ivan placed his chin in his palm and spoke condescendingly," I'm not obliged to get permission from you to go wherever I want to go do, hmm?" Alfred threw Ivan a dirty look," No. But you can try to be more polite."

"I sure can try. But you never said I must," he smiled. Alfred closed his eyes and exhaled deeply,_ no need to get angry…no need to chase away a customer._ "Serious, I have a shitty day at school and not in the mood to argue with you. Just order whatever you want and get the hell out of here."

"And you tell me to be polite. Perhaps you should consider setting you customer service a little higher? I could care less about what happened in your life," Ivan hissed. Alfred gritted his teeth and smiled pleasantly," Perhaps. But I have been working half a year here, I never had a single complaint filed against me. I see no reason for that to change now, eh?"

Ivan was playing around with the plastic sunflower while resisting the urge to laugh out loud. Oh this American was so amusing to play with. But his stomach was growling, he should get something to eat soon.

"Very well. May I _please_ have an apple pie?" Ivan emphasized on the word 'please' just to see Alfred cringed. Alfred growled in response and turned to Kiku," Do we even serve that?" Kiku shrugged and shouted," Feliciano kun! Do we sell apple pies?"

"No we don't! Who requested it?" he replied from downstairs." Mister Braginski," the Japanese eyed the Russian. There was a period of silence before there came a reply," I-I'll make it right now! T-Tell him it won't be long, I promise!"

"You should learn to be more like your employer. Such efficiency," Ivan commented. "_So sorry then._ I'd best be heading down," Alfred slammed down a cup of warm water he had been pouring for Ivan during the silence as a way to past time.

When he headed to the kitchen, he saw Feliciano running around, flustered. He had rejected all the other chefs help in favour of personally preparing the unexpected order.

"Ahhhh, is this enough dough? How many apples do I put inside? Is there enough seasoning?" Feliciano whined while he skinned the apples at lightning speed. "Whoah, chill man. It's just an apple pie, it's not like you've never made it before," Alfred laughed. "But I've only made one with Mr Bonnefoy before…" the Italian looked jittery.

"And he praised you to the ends of the world," Alfred patted him," he says you have loads of talent and potential." "But I can't mess this up, Mr Braginski-"

"Alfred kun! There are more customers coming, help me out!" Kiku cut in. Alfred sighed," Pretty busy today eh, good luck." Feliciano smiled weakly at Alfred before pouring the apples into the dough.

* * *

A huge mansion stood in front of Ivan. He held up a pocket watch while mentally counting down. As the clock strike six, he pushed past the doors into the foyer. He nervously looked around for a sign of a knife that was left around carelessly around and if a purple ribbon was visible anywhere.

He took off his boots and felt his feet step on the cold white marble floor. The house seemed too quiet. Where were his parents? Where his sisters? He climbed up a stairway to the guest room on the second floor.

"Oh hi Ivan!" a familiar voice greeted him as he stepped inside the cool room. Ivan's eyes widened," Roma?" "Ciao!" the older man stepped up to hug the Russian. Ivan realized his beard had grown thicker and he had larger dark circles under his eyes. He saw his parents sitting around too. His father had a stern look on his face while his mother was smiling gaily.

"I imagined you remember him. You use to adore his pasta," his mother commented. Ivan nodded in response. He wondered what was Roma doing here. Checking on Feliciano? Roma was grinning happily," I came to see my beloved grandson, Feliciano! I hope he's doing well."

"He's doing fine, I just returned from his restaurant. I ordered an apple pie and even though it wasn't from the menu he execute it wonderfully. I could hear the sound of the crust as I cut through it," Ivan recounted his experience. Roma's mouth was wide open," Feli created an apple pie? Wow, I never even taught him how to make one before. I bet you created a lot of pressure on him."

Ivan smiled pleasantly," He did seem a little intimidated by me. I didn't think it was necessary, I thought he was a great person. I visited two times and the food was impeccable. It was almost as good as your main restaurant Roma. It would be if it wasn't for the underperformed customer service."

Roma went silent then he opened his mouth again," You don't mean Alfred do you?" Ivan raised an eyebrow," So you know him too?" Roma laughed again," Of course, he was the first person Feliciano hired! He's a wonderful person I think. He's someone with great dreams and with an optimistic view in life."

_Really?_ Ivan thought. And he just told me a few hours ago his life was shitty. Roma had begun chatting with his parents and he looked out of the window, thinking about Alfred. He did hear him mention before Feliciano and Alfred had both attended a course together. Ivan briefly wondered about what it was. What was it they both had in common?

Ivan racked his head but it couldn't come up with any ideas. Would it have anything to do with cooking? Ivan hadn't met such a talented young chef, he was sure he would grow up to be an accomplished chef like his father.

Ivan himself could cook but he was better as a critic than a culinary chef really. He ate at a few restaurant and at almost every restaurant he would call the chefs out to compliment or criticize their dish. He did the later more actually. He even made some young chefs cry before, although he didn't really think he was that rough on them.

"Say Ivan, have you ever been interested in cooking?" Roma suddenly spoke up. Ivan blinked," I…I don't think so. I had always been learning to take over my father's business…I don't really have time to cook."

"Ivan you seemed a little stressed these days. You need to learn to relax, I don't think it would do you any harm to learn cooking. Roma says to him it is something he enjoys and he thinks you would too," his mother added. His father was seated in his recliner, looking expectantly at Ivan.

Ivan gulped, it wouldn't do any good to anger his father," Sure. But where would I learn?" Roma's eyes brightened as he suggested," Why don't you go to the one Feliciano is going? Of course he's only going there to learn other stuff other than Italian food. He's been there for half a year but I think you'll catch up. You can whip up some decent food, just that they're all Russian."

Without listening to Ivan's opinion, his father stood up and announced," I think you should go Ivan. I heard that there's a rather good French chef there too."

* * *

I don't think this story would really center around Alfred and Ivan learning to cook. Let's just leave that to Francis and Feliciano. So do review if you like it, thank you


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Author's note: Really. Thanks for all the follows, favourites and reviews. Those are awesome. Thanks Carlos325D, Laura31325 and The Fujoshi for reviewing.

* * *

If Alfred thought that the second day Braginski came was shitty, today was in no way comparable to that.

As he and Feliciano traveled that short distance from their school to the cooking academy they took their classes at, there was a spark of striking light flashing in the sky. A low growl alerted the two of them to be on their feet and they hurried as the first drops of rain hit the ground.

Alfred cursed as dark patches appeared in his uniform and droplets of water fell onto his lenses, blurring his vision. He hunched his back and quickened his pace.

"Feliciano, did you uh…practice how to make pancakes?" Alfred mumbled, keeping his head low. "You didn't do your homework again did you Alfred?" Feliciano was really stating rather than asking. It had become such a habit of Alfred that even as daft as Feliciano was, he could even predict what he was going to ask the moment he opened his mouth.

Alfred pouted," Well, since Mattie's such a pro at making pancakes, I thought I could procrastinate on my assignment and tell him to teach me last minute, but then that ass was like 'You should have done your own work a long time ago' and 'I'm not going to make a hundred pancakes with you in the middle of the night.'"

"Well pancakes are not hard to make. They're pretty simple it's just I'm having a bit of problem making both sides that beautiful brown colour," Feliciano commented while trying to keep up with Alfred.

"Says who? I keep burning those pancakes when I like, try to flip them and the shape gets messed up!" he complained. "It's about concentration Alfie. You need to be more cautious of the heat from the fire and flip when you see those craters forming on the surface," Feliciano recited whatever Francis had told them the week before, except the Alfie part.

"Easier said than done," Alfred grumbled," But I totally gotta show Mattie I can beat him at pancakes, cause I'm like, the hero. And heroes can totally cook right?"

"Pancakes are his specialty, but if you practice, _perhaps_ you can beat him," Feliciano lied through his teeth. At the rate Alfred was going, Feliciano would be surprised if he could cook something decently edible.

Soon they came into the shelter of the school and they groaned at their own reflections when they went past a mirrored hallway. Francis would definitely be not impressed if they came in dripping wet and dirty his kitchen floor. That man expects everything to be in top pristine condition.

The academy had several chefs as cooking mentors, mostly those that could not get into those restaurants they wanted to work in. Francis claimed that he wanted to work as a teacher but who knows?

But nobody needed to know how passionate about love he was. And nobody needed to know he was dating the guy as well. Most people would have been discreet about their love life whatever their sexual orientation. Not Francis. He was more than delighted than to share overly graphic details nobody wanted to know about.

Alfred had already, over the past year, despite never meeting this so called boyfriend before knew a lot about him. First, he was British. And second, he cooked worse than Alfred.

When Francis let out that second bit of knowledge, the whole class gave Francis a look of pity. Alfred wasn't sure if he should be happy he wasn't the worst cook Francis knew or if he should be offended by the fact that he was used as a comparison for horrible dishes.

When they stepped into the classroom, Feliciano hyperventilated and Alfred almost swore he was hallucinating.

The Russian freak was standing next to Francis, a look of amusement on his face. When he saw Alfred, his mouth twitched slightly.

"Why are you here?" Alfred asked morosely. Ivan smiled," We had this conversation Alfred." Alfred couldn't stop that scowl that was evidently etching itself on his face. Feliciano was looking at him nervously, wondering what he was doing here.

_Please don't let him stay here, please don't let him stay here, DON'T let him stay here,_ Alfred chanted mentally. _No way am I getting stuck seeing him for once a week here, Mondays are getting worse I swear. Last week a freak came clad in this scarf, a day later he starts being an asshole and on the next Monday he arrives to make my life a living hell._

Francis was sitting at the edge of the table, a little surprised at the sparks of animosity flying between his new student and the worst cook in his class. He couldn't decide if it was a good thing they were somehow related.

He coughed slightly to get the class's attention before going to Ivan," Hello there two gentlemen, if you may, please proceed to your own stations. May I introduce to you our new student Ivan Braginski."

_Kill me,_ Alfred thought.

Feliciano's face was a picture of pure unadulterated fear and Alfred was having a hard time keeping his composure. His life was starting to suck both at school and after school. God he hate Mondays.

Ivan was strangely stoic, but his eyes were fixated on Alfred. As Alfred headed to his station, Francis told him to stop. "Did you do your homework Alfred?" The American froze and for a moment didn't know how to react. He saw Ivan looking at him smirked. He didn't need to get scolded in front of Ivan when he was on his first day here. Not cool.

Francis made a frustrated sound," Alfred. You've been getting on my nerves." Francis's eyes lingered on Alfred for a moment before studying Ivan. Then he repeated the process again.

"Everyone will produce two pancakes within twenty minutes from a scratch, that is more than sufficient time, chop chop," he instructed and everyone began preparing their ingredients that were placed neatly on their stations.

"Alfred," Francis muttered the name slowly, making sure it sure that Alfred knew he was not pleased," since you're so good at cooking you do not need to do your homework consecutively for three weeks you shall teach Ivan how to make a decent pancake. Twenty minutes. No more. And if he doesn't perform well, the blame's on you. Now excuse me while I retrieve my cookbook I left at another classroom."

Before Alfred could protest, Francis had swiftly went out of the classroom. He eyed at Ivan and muttered something under his breath.

The steps towards Ivan were long and painful, each one even closer to impending doom. "Russian bastard," he started," Mr Bonnefoy says I gotta teach you how to make pancakes in twenty minutes. Look I didn't want this, Mr Bonnefoy-"

"Time is ticking away American. We better get started," Ivan cut in much to Alfred's displeasure. He huffed in irritation and showed Ivan the station.

"First, we have to heat the pan up first so it's hot enough later on," Alfred explained. "Obviously Alfred, I do not know what your level of competence is in the kitchen but please do not compare mine to that of a toddler's," Ivan interjected, reading Alfred's illegible notes.

Alfred entertained himself with a thought of wrapping his hands around that spindly neck that belonged to a certain Russian that was standing next to him as means of keeping his composure.

He began pouring stuff into flour when Ivan grabbed his arm," Are you sure you're supposed to put in that much salt?" Alfred looked at him uncertainly," I think so…"

Ivan looked at him incredulously," No Alfred, you do not pour two spoons of salt you hear me? And we need sugar, where's the sugar Alfred?"

There was a flurry of activity as they struggled to come up with two decent pancakes but all they did was argue, argue and argue. At one point of time they knocked down a bowl of something that was formerly a liquid of some sort and Ivan would stare at the mixture stained on the table with pity.

Well, that was a waste of perfectly good eggs and milk.

When Alfred put something that Ivan deemed as destroying the dish, he would literally grabbed Alfred's to stop him from putting anything and sometimes when his own arms collided with his partner, Alfred would scowl and hit Ivan back deliberately.

Things went on like this back and forth for a while before they noticed a pair of sapphire eyes with blonde hair staring at them like hawks from a nearby table. Alfred immediately became pale and started glaring at the pancakes as crater began to form.

In his panic he had already taken a spatula to flip the pancakes despite Ivan's protest that they were not ready yet. Ivan grabbed Alfred's wrist, a menacing look in his eyes, smiled blithely," Why so anxious little one? Surely it cannot be that you have a fear of teachers?"

Alfred glared at Ivan, his lips pursed into a thin line, warning him to shoot his mouth off. "It isn't Mr Bonnefoy, it's what he deems as punishment," Alfred explained, jabbing the spatula at the pancake. "Tell me about it," Ivan prompted.

"See those burnt pieces of scones he's holding in his hands now?" Alfred could feel cold sweat invading his skin as he could practically feel Francis' scrutinizing stare boring through him.

Ivan glanced briefly at the foul looking things that was currently residing in his teacher's hands," Those are scones? I thought they were charcoal or pieces of rocks," Ivan snorted. Alfred shrugged," Well I thought they were too. But they tasted like one anyway. Mr Bonnefoy uses those scones prepared by his boyfriend as forms of punishment when he eats something unsatisfactory."

Ivan widened his eyes in disbelief," Boyfriend?"

"Self explanatory. He's bisexual duh," Alfred merely said. Ivan looked at the teacher for a while before chuckling slightly," Hmm, interesting."

Alfred glanced at Ivan briefly, his face contorted into a frown." Really man, really?" "Pancakes are burning Alfred," Ivan said teasingly. Alfred's grip on the spatula grew tighter as he started stabbing at the pancake that was stuck to the pan. They must have not put enough oil.

"Ten seconds left!" a voice echoed throughout the room.

"Ten!"

Alfred had resorted to putting the pan in mid-air and was stabbing the last bits that were stuck to the pan.

"Nine!"

Ivan was rummaging through the drawers that came along with the station trying to find some maple syrup.

"Eight!"

Alfred had literally stabbed the pancake into the air and it flew in a graceful arc and landed on the plate placed nearby with a 'plop'.

"Seven!"

"Screw this, where's the butter?" Alfred shouted frantically while pushing Ivan away as both battled for the rights on their quest of violating the drawers.

"Six!"

Ivan pushed Alfred away forcefully and said pleasantly," I was here first da? You should have basic respect at the very least."

"Five!"

Alfred glowered at Ivan," If you do not move I am SO using the Kung Fu moves I learnt on TV at you."

"Four!"

"I'd like to see you try comrade!"

"Three!"

"I am not your comrade!"

"Two!"

"I got the syrup!" Ivan chimed. "Then pour that damn thing!"

"One!"

Alfred had ripped the wrapper covering the butter and flung it at the pancakes.

"Time's up!"

Alfred slumped onto the table and let out a long sigh of relief. There was no way he could stomach those scones again. No way. The day he ate it he got a violent stomachache. That felt absolutely terrible.

When Francis walked over to their station, he dramatically covered his mouth with both his hands and gasped," And for once Alfred didn't give me charred food to judge. This is magnificent!"

A small hint of red began growing rapidly on Alfred's cheek, both from embarrassment and a feeling of triumph, that he _did_ indeed not burn anything for once. "He really does burn everything?" Ivan asked curiously, directing a smirk at Alfred.

"Indeed, let's hope it taste as good as it looks on the outside," Francis muttered, worry splashing itself on his face instantly at the mere thought of swallowing it. He gingerly cut a small piece and popped it in his mouth.

Then he smiled." I have to give you credit Ivan, this actually taste quite decent," he commented. Alfred pouted, noting the fact Ivan was getting praised for what _he _did as well.

After Francis tasted all the other pancakes, he clapped his hands in glee for not eating a single charred food and the students all let out that breath they had been holding that nobody had the unfortunate fortune of eating that brutal…thing.

* * *

"Oh…Oh man, it's still raining," Alfred groaned. Lessons had, fortunately for him, ended and now he and Feliciano were both on their way to the restaurant. The restaurant was at least a mile away and if they were planning on running in this unforgiving weather, let's just say hopefully the textbooks and homework inside their bags won't be soiled by the time they get there. They did indeed went to the academy straight from their school after all.

Alfred held his jacket above the two of them," Well, beggars can't be choosers, this will have to do." Feliciano whimpered slightly, not liking the idea of walking through this heavy of a rain with just a piece of cloth barely covering his head. Not to mention, his clothes would be thoroughly soaked and his feet would have this sticky feeling to it.

Suddenly Alfred felt an ominous presence beside him. There, stood a towering man with a pale pink scarf. Yea, guessed it. Ivan Braginski.

He was holding a violet umbrella and smiling at their misfortune.

"I have a car, do you two need a ride?" he simply asked. Alfred could not imagine the horror. He would rather much walk through this rain thank you.

"I am heading to your restaurant, I am certainly feeling rather hungry," he added on," it would definitely be of no inconvenience to send you two there as well."

"No thank you, you can sit in your fancy car by yourself," Alfred spat, the venom in his voice might or might not have been caused by the announcement of his very much hated person going to his workplace.

"I do not care about you but I must indeed make sure Feliciano must not fall ill because such a trivial matter if I can help it do I? After all, Roma was the very one who introduced this course to me," Ivan continued, knowing well Feliciano would be too afraid of him to defy his orders.

Feliciano choked," L-Let's just go Alfie, he means well anyway. And it wouldn't do to get sick because of this rain."

Alfred could snap a trunk in half now. Oh he was _so _pissed.

Mondays really do suck.

* * *

Oh well. I love writing scenes with rain despite myself not liking to run in the rain myself. I did, yesterday, two times. Not cool. But pancakes are cool. But I really have trouble with getting the pancake out without ruining its shape as well, haha. Hope you enjoyed it! Please review, reviews are always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

The restaurant used to be a haven but for some reason has transformed into an asylum. Well, to Alfred. It seemed as if a psychotic patient had decided to admit himself in just to ruin someone's say. Well isn't that just wonderful.

He didn't just come every Monday. No he decided to come every weekday, the days when _Alfred_ was working. He seemed to have this notion that it was his job to make Alfred's day worse after a long grueling day of school tests that ended up in resulting supplementary lessons for him.

He would ask Feliciano in advance when Alfred was arriving should he have a make up test. And that poor Italian was too terrified to do anything else but to comply. And Alfred couldn't do anything about it. Because as a professional worker, you would definitely put work before personal problems.

But it didn't mean that you can't push that responsibility to someone else. That was how Alfred ended up begging Kiku to take his place on his workday.

He was kneeling on the ground, his fingers crossed," Oh your great majesty please free me of my misery! I can't handle that Braginski!" Kiku was observing him with amusement, almost expecting the bell to ring any time, and with it, for the Russian to appear at the door. After all, he was rarely late.

When it didn't ring, he sighed heavily and rubbed his temples," You know that's not going to work. I firmly insisted on not serving him."

Alfred gasped in horror," How can you do that to me Kiku! How can you just let the hero wither away by his evil Russian ways?" Kiku gave him a knowing smile," Well Alfred, heroes are those that learn to overcome their problems. And only heroes are allowed to come to my house to play video games, am I right?"

"Noo Kiku you are not isolating me from the world of gaming are you? No can do! Ninjas don't freaking do that!" Alfred whined. Kiku was already putting on his apron on as Alfred continued whining.

"Indeed I am. It would be a shame if I lost a noob to play Burnout with me, after all, you are so very amusing," Kiku smirked as he saw Alfred's face. Priceless.

"No Kiku YOU DID NOT! Nobody calls Alfred a freaking noob! Nobody!" He retorted with vigor.

"Who was the one who was spinning in the mud when I had long reached the finishing line?" Kiku chuckled at the memory. Alfred's face burnt," No fair! I just started playing the game when that happened!"

Kiku smiled," So you got your answer? You are continuing your impeccable service for our newcomer Sir Alfred."

Alfred groaned," I am SO getting back at you for this."

"You can try but just to add on, Ninjas are invincible," Kiku encouraged.

Just then, the bell rang.

_Okay, time to turn on my do-not-get-mad-no-matter-what-stupid-Braginski-does-switch,_ Alfred gritted his teeth. After all Alfred could almost _feel _when Ivan was going to come.

There he stood, with his stupid mug. In his hands was a package, Alfred wondered what was that. There was a familiar logo on the bag, though Alfred couldn't seem to remember where he had seen it before.

His face brightened up when he saw Alfred waiting for him," How sweet American for you to wait for me. I shall have to give good feedback on your service hmm?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and nonchalantly replied," Yes please do. Anyway let's get you upstairs since you have already marked the poor table with the sunflower as your territory."

"You hurt my feelings little one," Ivan replied.

"Feliciano bought you vodka. Don't even ask how he did it. I was pretty sure he was under aged," Alfred muttered, his face darkening as Ivan's face practically glowed.

"I must thank that little hardworking Italian after I finish my lunch," Ivan grinned. He stole a glance at the package he was holding," I have to give something to him anyway."

"You sure that box doesn't contain bombs or dynamite?" Alfred said, sarcasm lacing his words heavily. "I can assure you it doesn't. You must have watched too many shows inappropriate for your age to have thought of that Alfred," Ivan giggled._ What?_

The stairs creaked under both their weight as they made their way up, the sound being like a reminder to Alfred's ever increasing weight. As they walked reached the second floor, their vision was temporarily blinded by the striking light that was filtering through the windows into the scented room.

"Nice weather huh," Alfred blinked his eyes to get rid of that distortion the light had caused on his eye. He knew they shouldn't have situated the staircase facing the window.

"I could not agree more, though I have heard summers are unbearably hot here," Ivan used his hand to block the light as he searched for his table.

"Depends on which part of America you are talking about," Alfred grumbled, grabbing a menu as he walked past the desk. He felt a little pathetic not being able to memorize the menu after working so long. But at least he could somehow vaguely tell what was being served. And that those horrible scones Francis had were absolutely out of the question.

He wondered if he could get the recipe. Getting Ivan to try a couple of it would definitely make his day. He might as well be committing homicide though.

After Ivan made his order, Alfred went down and lingered on the ground floor. He didn't really want to see the Russian. There weren't many customers probably because it was a Friday and most were actually spending time with their family, unlike…him.

He wondered if Matthew had reached home, he wondered if he was alright. Despite seeming very oblivious, he was acutely aware of his negligence in his own brother's feelings.

As the older brother, you should take care of your younger sibling shouldn't you? Matthew had brought out a parental side Alfred never knew he had although he wasn't really much younger.

He had always been a shy guy, never really made a lot of friends. His demure and bashful personality was such a huge contrast to Alfred's daring and confident one that people really couldn't believe they were related.

But regardless of how little Matthew was actually noticed, Alfred still cares about him. He knew that much.

He went into a room in the far right that was only authorised for staff. He picked up his backpack and dug around for his phone. When his hands finally touched something cold and smooth, he immediately pulled it out.

On his lock screen, there was a rectangular box with Matthew's nickname 'Mattie', signaling a message from him.

_Alfred when are coming home today? I made some pancakes, do you want me to save you some?_

Alfred's face lit up just by the thought of tasting those delicious, mouth-watering pancakes that Matthew made. God they must be illegal. The smell of creamy milk that permeated the air after Matthew finished his signature recipe, the thick maple syrup that dribbled down. Oh Alfred can imagine them now.

_Dude that is awesome! I'm counting on you to make some absolutely scrumptious dinner again Mattie!_

"Alfred kun, take your order! It has been sitting there on the counter for the past five minutes!" Kiku's voice came, irritated and commanding.

Alfred gaped, had he been distracted for that long?

He rushed to grab the plate of pasta before rushing up. The smell of fresh tomato sauce wafted to his nose, steam still rising from heated pasta. Even before the plate was in his sight, Ivan could already smell it.

Feliciano had done well.

When Alfred set down the dish, Ivan twirled his fork around the pasta while studying it. Then his eyes flickered to an object in Alfred's hand.

"You own a cell phone? Well that is unexpected," he craned his neck to see the model.

"Yea, got a problem?" Alfred huffed. Ivan shook his head, a smile still evident on his face," No, don't get so worked up. In that case, give me your number."

Colour drained from Alfred's face," What? Why? No!"

Ivan cocked his head," Why ever not?"

His lips thinned," Just, no! I don't give cell phone numbers to creeps like you."

Ivan put a mouthful of pasta in his mouth," Say what you want American, I will have that number."

Alfred gave him a weird look," Why do you want it? It's not like you really need or anything."

Ivan stroked his package he had at his side unconsciously," Well, we are cooking partners and I am such a loyal customer at your best friend's restaurant, are we not close?"

"I didn't choose for either of those Ruski. No, I'm going down, don't call me until you finish every morsel of your food," Alfred grunted before heading down again.

As Alfred walked down, his phone vibrated.

_Okay Alfred. I hope you enjoy your day at work. As I am very tired, I have retired to bed first. If I do not wake up before you return, heat up the pancakes on your own. Remember, just steam them, don't cook them over again. They'll end up burnt._

* * *

The sun was setting. There was a faint pink diffusing into vibrant orange that surrounds the sun, giving everything a soft glow. The sky was turning into a dark shade of indigo, the clouds having a very subtle hint of violet in them.

Even though it was approaching evening, Ivan had insisted on staying, waiting for Feliciano. Said Italian had been jittery throughout his entire stay, wondering what crime could he have committed to torment him in such a way.

When Feliciano finally could spare some time for Ivan, he puts on his chef's hat and strode up as confidently as he could.

Even as he just turned around, he could recognize it. _That Logo._

"Grandpa Roma," he breathed. Memories of the restaurant that he grew up in flooded his mind, both happy and sad.

Ivan gave him a reassuring smile," Da, Roma brought this over himself. He did visited my family shortly after he arrived although I think you hadn't seen him yet. He said he needed to prepare some things before he meets you."

Ivan readjusted his sitting position, folding his arms across his chest," I think I should let you know, Roma was very proud of you for creating an apple pie."

Feliciano's face was so full of happiness, so much he was practically glowing. His cheeks were flushed, a warm red colouring his face.

"Grazie Ivan. I hadn't heard him praise me in such a long time," Feliciano lowered his face, reliving memories of his time with his beloved grandpa.

"Then in that case, I shall remind him to do so personally when he meets you in person, after all it is so much better to hear it straight from a person's mouth," Ivan winked.

" Anyway, Roma left these for you to taste, hopefully you can improve. I think you are doing great though, but you do need to widen your knowledge of different cuisines. Don't just stick to your comfort zone. Be bold, try other dishes you have never done before," Ivan added.

Feliciano tentatively held out his hand.

Ivan eyed at it warily," What do you want?"

Feliciano blanched slightly but he remained resolute in what he wanted to say," I think you're not a very bad person…just…stern…Since you know Grandpa Roma and all, let's be uh…"

The sunflower's petals were a glorious copper painted by the sun rays sneaking through the window.

_The sunlight makes the sunflower looks beautiful_, Ivan thought. The sunflower rested in a tiny white vase, head slightly tilted down. It looked lonely.

Sunflowers do not grow in clusters. They grow by themselves. Somehow, Ivan felt he could empathize with the flower. A fragile flower in the frigid winter, bracing against the frosty weather by itself.

Strong, yes. Physically. But it lacked warmth. No matter how strong something is, they need warmth.

Feliciano felt like a ray of sunlight, a warmth reaching out to him, however tentatively. But deep inside, Ivan could still fell, Feliciano was afraid of him.

There was another presence that calmed him down. One that was willing to converse with him, despite his curt and sometimes reluctant replies and retorts, Ivan could feel something stirring in that particular voice.

It soothed him, it was a reason why he tries to so hard to find a spot in his packed schedule to come here.

It was why he went to Grandpa Roma's. They both exude a feeling of cheerfulness and at the same time, an ability to try and converse with awkward people. Ivan admired that.

That was why he would continue to come.

"Yes," he said, extending his hand to Feliciano," comrade. Let's work towards the same goal. To continue to make this restaurant full of life."

* * *

Author's notes:

Urgh, just recovered from a fever. Anyway was the ending unexpected? How was this chapter? There weren't really much food stuff in here but that's not what this story is by the way, thanks to The Fujoshi for reviewing! Anyway, hoped you enjoyed it, and please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia axis powers

Author's note: I am terribly sorry for the long wait. I just didn't have time. School, is, well school. The first part is a bit angst so I'm not very sure how it turn out. Hopefully it doesn't sound too bad.

* * *

The house was dark and dreary, casting an eerie shadow over Alfred as he stepped onto the porch. The door creaked loudly as he walked into the house, footsteps as light as a feather.

_I need to oil the hinges soon_, Alfred thought.

There was a musty smell permeating the air, Alfred couldn't bring himself to believe that he had smelt this in his home for the past few years. It didn't smell homely in the very least.

Books and magazines littered the floor, the wallpaper was already tearing. Cups were left lying around and some utensils were left lying around. The rugs were a faded colour and seemed to be souse with some strong smelling liquid. Dust coated the window panes from lack of wiping.

With a sigh, Alfred began picking up all the unwashed cups lying on the floor. He headed to the kitchen and true enough there were pancakes there. Lying on the table like an abandoned cold stale bread.

Alfred's stomach growled hungrily at the moment and he just wanted to pop those pancakes into his mouth, but he still needed to heat them up first.

Afterwards he headed upstairs-to Matthew's room, specifically. He saw his little brother curled up in a fetal position in the corner of the dim bedroom with his stuffed polar bear clutched in his arms.

There no light except for that little feeble rays of sunlight filtering through the window. Matthew's bag was left at the foot of the bed, homework files scattered all over. Alfred stood at the doorway a little awkwardly before coughing loudly, announcing his presence.

For a moment, Matthew looked up, his eyes unfocused and a small smile graced his lips. His blond hair was tousled and Alfred could see he hadn't change out of his school clothes yet.

"Hello Alfred, have you eaten?"

Alfred almost cringed at the way his own brother said his name. It sounded…so formal. His polar bear, _Kumajirou was it?_ It seemed to have become a security blanket for his brother lately, while it was endearing to see Matthew treasuring their mother's gift so much despite it being a child's toy, Alfred almost wished he would part with that thing.

It was painful to see him desperately trying to hold on to something that was already gone. Did Matthew not see? He needed to let go. Alfred was already making himself sick with worry from Matthew's anti sociality. Not that Matthew had isolated himself from Alfred. Not physically.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, when was he the one to become awkward in conversation?

"No. But I'm going to eat your pancakes Mattie, do you want me to heat them up for you?" Alfred asked, his voice shaky, hoping for _something._ Matthew's face remained unemotional, the peace and serenity residing in his eyes becoming something of worry rather than assurance.

Matthew shook his head," No, I'm not hungry."

Alfred bit his lip, unconsciously clenching his fist.

"Did you eat Mattie?"

Silence.

"_Mattie-"_

"I wasn't hungry," Matthew simply replied, his eyelids starting to droop.

"You have to eat something, I don't want you to collapse because of fatigue," Alfred said, his voice strained.

Matthew lowered his face into Kumajirous's head and slowly he closed his eyes. He leaned against the wall and his entire body relaxed. Alfred gave a low groan of frustration. Matthew was ignoring him.

He tentatively stepped towards Matthew, seeing his brother had already dozed off he leaned in closer. A piece of glass gleamed in the sunlight. Gingerly, Alfred picked up the photo frame, a pang of longing instantly lodging itself like a broken shard of glass into his heart.

Alfred wanted to cry out from all the injustice, wanted to just incinerate that picture for once and for all. And at once, he felt guilt. How could he even think of such a thing? But it reminded him of pain so much, it reminded him of why things were like this now and _why_ Matthew was in this state.

Why did the world you twice as much as you can handle?

Alfred knew that time heals all wounds but ultimately something as detrimental to their mental well-being as this would have needed them to accept it willingly. Something you come to terms with. Alfred had moved on, told himself lamenting wouldn't doing any good but Matthew was unable to escape out of that vicious cycle of mourning.

Alfred had contemplated taking him to see a therapist or counselor. But Matthew had so strongly objected, _claiming _he was absolutely fine. He had never seen such so much defiance in Matthew's eyes before. And to everyone else, he looked fine.

Matthew had always appeared normal to others, nobody could really see any distinct changes in him. Only Alfred did.

Alfred set the picture back on the table, a sad look in his eyes.

His gaze wandered to Matthew, and all the anger just dissipated. The sight of Matthew's sleeping face was comforting to Alfred, at least he wasn't suffering now. But who knows what nightmares might plague his memories even in his sleep?

Alfred draped a blanket on Matthew before taking one last look at the picture.

And just as quietly as he came in, he went out. He lingered at the doorway for a while, before slumping against the wall," I guess you really miss her."

* * *

Wednesday went by fleetingly. So did Thursday. Friday came as a big relief to the mentally strained American. At least he got half a day to relax at home. And Matthew was in a mood to create pancakes again.

_Oh who am I kidding,_ Alfred mentally joked to himself,_ that kid is always in the mood to create pancakes. My only problem is that the maple syrup is burning a hole in my wallet. Oh my poor _money_…_

As Alfred brought the pancakes up to his room, he saw rain beginning to fall.

The sound was deafening, like a whole bucketful of beans pelting against a metal tray. As he pulled the curtains, his cell phone vibrated.

He took a look at the sender and raised his eyebrow.

Unknown number

He opened the message curiously, wondering if it was a scam.

_Go out, to that shelter near Vargas Italian_

Alfred wasn't sure what kind of reaction he should make. It sounded like a scam, yet it doesn't sound like a scam. And how did the stranger knew he knew the restaurant?

He took a look at the torrential rain and a thought came to his mind.

_Haha, in your dreams_

He cut out a piece of a pancake before his cellphone vibrated again. He grumbled and read the message again.

_Alfred, I know you read that message_

The piece of pancake that was on his fork _so close_ to entering his mouth fell off. What-

_If you value your job come out now. Being stuck outside in the rain is not exactly how I envisioned spending my Friday afternoon._

"Neither do I," Alfred mumbled darkly. There are only two people who he knew are so cocky and shameless.

Gilbert Beilschmidt and…Ivan Braginski.

Gilbert would rather die than to meet him outside. Which only means Ivan…wait, how did he get his number?

Alfred scanned the message, reading it till the end.

"PS. Bring an extra umbrella."

Alfred shoved the cellphone into his pant pocket with an irritated look on his face.

"That's it Ruski, you are so-"

A loud clap of thunder interrupted him out of his thoughts.

"…Forget it."

Alfred huffed angrily as he took two umbrellas and rushed out of the door."Somebody's gonna pay for making me go out at freaking 4 in the afternoon on a freaking Friday with steamy pancakes lying there so alluringly like a work of art in my room when it is POURING out. Somebody's gonna pay," he hissed as the raindrops pattered on the roof on his umbrella like a woodpecker hammering a tree.

Water seeped into his sneakers and he cursed under his breath. He hated that feeling. People were probably staring at him as he walked past wondering _what the hell was he doing on a perfectly fine Friday afternoon._

They were probably looking at him and internally laughing at him. Yea.

He knew he should never have bought the phone. It was an instrument created by Satan himself. It wasn't like he ever received any messages from girls anyway. Only freaky guys who decided the best way to spend their free time was to torture Alfred with their freaky messages.

The air smelled damp with rain that smelled nothing like what those books described them as. Hmm, at least there wasn't mud around.

Alfred scrunched up his face. No, having his face make acquaintance with the mud was not a good experience. Especially with Matthew wondering if Alfred had decided to have a mud bath with the front part of his body.

_Which shelter was he talking about?_ Alfred wondered.

As if on cue, a man was standing in a nearby shelter with that _oh familiar _pink scarf looked over. His violet eyes scanned over Alfred and he gave an approving smile.

Alfred took a deep breath before heading over. _It's coming…It's coming. World war three. Oh screw that, it's probably that zombie apocalypse that everyone's fearing. Brace yourselves people…_

Ivan had this weirdly happy smile on his face upon seeing Alfred. And in his hands, was _another box._

Alfred almost laughed out of not for his annoyance for coming out.

"Dude you have this attraction with white boxes don't you? What is it this time?" Alfred snorted, oblivious to the dark look the Russian was giving him.

Ivan widened his eyes briefly, as if just noticing he was carrying a box with him the whole time. He smiled shyly and looked down," Well, I wanted to let…the staff at Vargas Italian taste my pastry. I mean…"

"Wait, is the same Ivan I'm seeing?" Alfred feigned shock," have you somehow in a moment of truth discovered your real strength in deceiving people is through humble attitudes rather than that arrogant conceited-"

Ivan thumped him in the head," Haha, very funny."

"See I always knew you were a con man," Alfred gave him a knowing look.

Ivan raised both his eyebrows in a mocking look," Yes, I'm honestly surprised it took you so long to find out my secret occupation, _hmm?"_

Alfred felt his spirits lifted a bit. If only a bit.

Ivan directed his gaze back to the box," But since I didn't bring an umbrella, I couldn't go there. These are getting cold soon."

Alfred instinctively handed Ivan his umbrella," Here you go you big guy."

Ivan eyed at the umbrella, his look strangely tender.

"It's okay Alfred. But would you like to try it?" Ivan handed him the box. Alfred gaped at him," Seriously? For real?"

"I didn't put poison or drugs in it," Ivan clarified, noting the American's doubtful look.

"I…I wasn't thinking that," Alfred said weakly.

As he opened the box, he was greeted with a freshly backed pecan pie, smell overpowering the damp wet air. It was dark brown decorated with pecans on the top with its crust looking golden brown. It looked pretty good actually.

Cautiously, Alfred cut himself the pie himself with the fork and knife Ivan brought along. Wait. Why would Ivan bring a knife out to public? Oh whatever.

The gooey substance in the pie oozed out as Alfred sliced through it. He could almost the Russian's intense gaze on him as he brought it to his mouth.

There was an explosive flavor of strong honey and pecan which Alfred savoured with every bite.

As Alfred stuffed the rest of the food into his mouth, Ivan bit his mouth anxiously, waiting for his verdict.

"So, how did you find it?" he asked nervously.

After Alfred managed to swallow all of that pie he gulped down in one bite, he showed Ivan a thumb's up.

"This stuff is addictive man, what did you put in it? Heroin?" Alfred laughed as he returned Ivan the box.

If he was paying attention, he would have seen the Russian's cheeks tinged with light pink. But well since he didn't…well, he didn't see it.

The happiness on Ivan's face was apparent, shining so brightly that the people from the North Pole could see it.

Ivan didn't even understand why he felt so happy. Was it because this was the first time someone had shown his cooking so much interest?

Did praise felt so sweet in the heart?

Ivan didn't know. But he only knew he was going to relish the moment and tuck it in the back of his mind for him to replay. To relive the blissful moment.

"By the way," Alfred began, narrowing his eyes at Ivan," How did you get my number?"

Ivan smiled," I almost thought you'd never ask. A little birdie told me, da?"

"I'm not stupid Ivan, I know a birdie didn't tell you. A bird can't talk, now tell me who told you," Alfred pouted, which only amused Ivan more.

"I didn't really meant it in a literal way…" Ivan muttered." Pretty easy really, your friend was being very cooperative and very willingly gave me your number."

Alfred groaned. He should have known. Because really, who else other than _Feliciano _look like they want to shit in their pants upon getting 10 feet near Braginski?

"Okay…whatever just…don't spam my phone with…creepy messages or…recordings…" Alfred sort of more or less said the last part ominously. He still cringed upon remembering that time he woke up in _3 am_ receiving a call from Gilbert and heard a women _screaming_ in the background.

Man that was freaking creepy.

The rain seemed to begin to subside a little but it was still rather heavy. Alfred handed Ivan a yellow umbrella, with Ivan looking weirdly at it.

"It seems…very colourful…" he commented unhelpfully.

"Got a problem? I just kinda thought a psycho like you would like it," Alfred retorted.

"Yellow of all colours?" Ivan studied the brightly coloured umbrella.

Alfred flushed slightly,_ why did they buy a yellow umbrella anyway?_

"I think it would look prettier with a yellow ribbon," Ivan couldn't help himself but smile as he looked at the roof of the umbrella. How come he never noticed? Yellow was such a pretty colour.

"A ribbon? Did you really just say that?" Alfred almost snorted. Ivan nodded slightly, still struggling to cope with the warm feeling that was engulfing his heart. But he wouldn't mind, ever, if he can experience it for many days to come, he was sure he would welcome it with open arms.

Who knew a pecan pie, cell phone and rain could stir such emotions in his heart?

Friday was indeed a good day.

* * *

Author's note: So how was it? The food I mention tend to get pretty random because they are based on the food I'm making. I was actually listening to a song talking a yellow ribbon while writing the yellow colour part. Can anyone guess it? Hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
